Lord Winter

Like Luther's army

And Abel's brother

I woke to find

Only to smother

And angel fat at

Satan's feast

Where falsehood, childhood

And loneliness ceased

Delicate like grief

I am rapist, well-healed

Double the echo of silence

Like a dusty dead rose

Contaminate with neglect

Every little heart

Should end up broken

And shrouded by fog

Asleep in

The stumble of autumn

The pain was calvary

Our living on

Empty!

The dead of it -

The dread of it!